


Hope for Wolves

by fannishliss



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hope for Paws, Light Whump, Lighthearted, M/M, Roach Ships It, scritches and bellyrubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27405040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: Jaskier hears of a witcher in trouble and speeds to the rescue!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 109





	Hope for Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this story follows the plot of my favorite youtube channel, Hope for Paws, which features stories of sad lost dogs, rescued from the street, fed, bathed, petted, then happily romping into their new lives. It’s the best channel ever. If you can, please support Hope for Paws. Thanks to real life hero, Eldad Hagar!!

Destiny overtook Master Bard Jaskier (Julian Alfred Pancratz, Viscount de Lettenhove) at a shady inn just north of the Yaruga where he was taking a break after playing for the noon rush. Jaskier, back against the bar, surveyed the thin crowd, debating with himself over a watery pint and a hunk of chewy bread, between moving on and playing a second set, when he overheard a casual conversation between two half-drunken louts.

Lout one was saying, “Yeah, I think it’s trapped? Rockfall looks to have pinned it.But the cockatrice is dead, so, there’s that.” 

“Hm, so it got the job done, anyhow.” 

“Once they take the scent I hear there’s no breaking them off it before the monster is dead.” 

“Ay, not a thought in their head but killing.” 

“Especially that one!The Butcher of Blaviken, so I hear tell.” 

Jaskier’s ears perked up.The infamous Witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken! As a man of letters, collector of lore, continental traveler, and raconteur extraordinaire, Jaskier knew all there was to know about this particular Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, though he’d never met him. 

“Pardon me, you say you saw someone trapped?” Jaskier interrupted.Probably not for long, if the legendary strength and magical signs of the Witchers were as good as the stories. 

“Naw, just a Witcher…” 

Jaskier could hardly hold back a sneer of repugnance at the lout’s despicable and callous attitude. 

“Was he in need of help?” Jaskier inquired. 

“What do you care,” the second lout answered. “Thinking of looting its goods, I wouldn’t.Tear your arm off as soon as spit at you.” 

“Whoar, what if it’s poison?” The first lout breathed, spitting on the floor. 

“No telling!Shoot fire, blast you across the road, make your mind go fuzzy… wouldn’t put it past em to be poison on top of all that!” 

“But where?” Jaskier repeated.At the bleary looks of unconcern he got from the two louts, Jaskier leaned in and painted on a smile. 

“Ale for you both if you tell me where he is?” 

The bribe worked wonders and Jaskier soon had detailed directions to where the white-haired Witcher lay, pinned under a rockfall. 

“Barkeep!” he called.A fat man in a dirty apron ambled through the door to the kitchen. 

As he settled his tab, Jaskier asked, “Do you have a jar, with a lid, that I could take away some soup?” 

“Crock, with a wooden lid, cost you though.” 

“Splendid. Crock full of stew, loaf of bread, bit of cheese, apples? A bottle of wine?” 

While the barkeep packed the takeaway order into Jaskier’s carrying sack, Jaskier put his lute over one shoulder and his traveling satchel over the other. 

“Good day to you, lads!” Jaskier called merrily as he departed the grimy Inn without a backwards glance. 

The sun had barely moved in the sky when Jaskier found the Witcher, trapped as the lout had described, under a rockfall.The gory corpse of a cockatrice lay nearby — the Witcher had certainly done a great service, killing such a dangerous monster so nearby to human habitations. 

Jaskier approached cautiously.“Hallo?” he called.“Sir Witcher?” 

There was no reply.A brown horse stood a short ways off, blowing lightly through her nostrils, and stamping without too much overt hostility, merely as a show of strength. 

“Witcher?” Jaskier called, creeping closer.He had no desire to be blasted across a clearing, set on fire, or mentally dominated by an angry Witcher.At least not without proper negotiations beforehand, he amended to himself. “Geralt of Rivia?” 

“fuck” came the weak reply. 

“Sir Witcher,” Jaskier said, holding up his hands. “I mean you no harm. Can I help?” 

“why” the Witcher groaned. 

“You’re trapped, aren’t you,” Jaskier said.The rockfall could easily be seen from the road, down the hill a ways.The lout had probably tried to loot the horse, but been deterred by its fiery spirit. 

“no” came a faint groan after a delay. 

“Look, just tell me how to help.I swear I mean you no harm.” 

“rrrr”— The Witcher was maybe trying to growl, but it came out as more of a weak, furious grunt. 

“I’m a bard. You’re a famous Witcher.I just want to help you.And maybe, you know, make ballads out of your amazing exploits?” 

“rrr” — it was really more of a groan than a growl. 

Jasker had gotten close enough to see the terrifying visage of the Witcher. 

First of all, he was absolutely covered in blood.Some of it must have belonged to the cockatrice, but some of it was flowing weakly from a nasty wound that gashed down the side of the Witcher’s face. 

Second of all, he was thoroughly pinned. It wasn’t just one rock, it was a significant portion of the hillside, or, at least a very large pile of rocks and dirt that had evidently been dislodged by the fight with the cockatrice.The Witcher was almost buried, just his left arm, upper left side, and head sticking out. 

“Get back,” the Witcher threatened weakly, making a weird shape with his hand. 

Jaskier braced himself for some type of hex, but nothing happened.Maybe a slight breeze? 

“Run low on witchery?” Jaskier quipped. 

“rrrrrRRR” the Witcher growled, redoubling his efforts. 

Jaskier paid his ferocity no more mind.With his hexes out of order, the Witcher was just a large angry man trapped in a rockfall.Jaskier took off his satchel and laid his lute carefully under a nearby tree. 

“Hm, wine first I should think,” Jaskier thought out loud. He dug the bottle of wine out of his carrier bag and uncorked it. He gave it a sniff and a little sip and declared it palatable. 

“It’s not Est Est, but needs must,” Jaskier said.“Hm, I shall remember that one.” Humming, he again slowly approached the Witcher, wine bottle held out in front of him. 

“Wine, look,” he said clearly.Sipping ostentatiously, he then said, “Mmm, good.” 

“hm” the Witcher said again.This close, his eyes were astonishing, clear faceted gold, so bright, and so angry.His face, where it wasn’t streaked with blood and gore, was almost marble white. 

Jaskier held out the bottle, and the Witcher reached for it with his free hand.No telling how long he’d been lying here without food or drink. He poured some into his mouth and swished it around before swallowing. 

“See? Unadulterated.At least, not since it was corked.” Jaskier said.“I didn’t taste any rats in the vat. Hm!”He made another mental note.“Rats in the vat, not Est Est, need must, not the best? Hmmm.” 

The Witcher drank another deep swallow. 

“I brought some food,” Jaskier offered.“Or, I can try to dig you out first, or, wipe your face? You tell me.”

“Food.” 

The golden eyes were very intimidating, especially combined with the furious bloody frown and the deep rumbling growls that the man gave whenever Jaskier moved too fast.Jaskier at birth had been blessed (or cursed) with the energy of ten lively boys, so his mother often claimed. 

Jaskier got out the pot of stew, and fed chunky bites to the witcher with his long roasting fork. 

“What very sharp teeth you have!” he commented. 

“rrr” the Witcher growled. 

When the Witcher slowed down on lunging for the meat, Jaskier put the rest of the stew away. 

“Now let’s see about getting you free, hm? Maybe your horse, some rope?” 

The Witcher let out a piercing whistle, and the brown horse calmly ambled over to stand right near them both. 

“Left rear,” rumbled the Witcher. 

Jaskier offered the horse a bit of one apple, which she accepted. While she was chewing, Jaskier unhooked a small coil of good rope from a loop under the left rear saddlebag. 

After tying the rope around the largest rock on top of the pile, Jaskier convinced the horse to help him shift the rock away from the Witcher.The other rocks were smaller than the very large one on top, so the rest took a bit less effort.Still, Jaskier was sweaty and begrimed by the time the Witcher shook free of the rest of the pile in a flurry of dirt and gravel. 

“Easy, easy now,” Jaskier soothed, and offered him the wine again.

The Witcher sat up and had another swallow of wine. 

Jaskier held up a washing cloth — “do you mind?” he asked. 

The Witcher’s forehead creased angrily as he scowled, but — “mm” he said, allowing Jaskier to dab at him with a cloth from his satchel and some water from the skin hanging off the horse’s saddle. 

The Witcher seemed to relax as Jaskier wiped gently at his face.There was nothing to be done about his armor and clothing until they got to a river or a stream, but when Jaskier reached for the Witcher’s hand, the Witcher extended it without complaint. 

“Are you hurt, anywhere?” Jaskier asked softly. 

“head” the Witcher said, angling the slash at Jaskier. 

“Nowhere else?” 

“m” he denied. 

Jaskier was a little bit surprised that he was already able to somewhat decode the Witcher’s taciturn responses. 

“Good, I’m glad you’re not too badly injured.That was quite a disaster! How long were you trapped?” 

“Four days.” 

“Four days!Melitele’s ass!I have half a mind to march right back to that tavern and give that lout a thrashing!”

“No.” 

“And why not, I’d like to know?” 

“Trouble.” 

Jaskier looked at the Witcher, covered in dirt, weakened by days being trapped under the rockfall, still bleeding from an injury that if it were four days old, was much worse than it appeared at first. 

He sighed. “Trouble’s the last thing you need.And the first is a bath, am I right?” 

“hmmmm” 

“Really? There’s a town not far on down the road, if you think you can ride?”

“mm” 

“More stew first, or an apple?” 

The Witcher ended up drinking a bit more of the wine and eating the rest of the apple Jaskier had bribed the horse with.He mounted with little difficulty, though he clung to the saddle as though he was still a bit disoriented. 

Before long, they reached the next town, where Jaskier had a standing invitation to return and play for bed and board.The Inn’s mistress didn’t bat an eye when Jaskier entered with the Witcher, leaning heavily on him with an arm draped over his shoulder. 

“A hot bath, if you please— wine — something to eat — and send a boy to the stable, the horse needs tending.” 

“Right away Master Jaskier!” the lady said, smiling.Her inn had been packed every night while Jaskier made his stay. 

Jaskier half carried the heavy Witcher up to the suite he favored.It wasn’t a huge chamber, but it did have room for a bath, and a window to let in light, along with a refreshing summer breeze. 

The Witcher fumbled at the buckles of his armor but wasn’t too out of it to show Jaskier how to help him remove the heavy, silver-studded leathers.Soon he was down to his faded black linen shirt, neatly and often mended, and thick work trousers, embellished with leather pads well up each thigh. 

Jaskier was helping him get his boots off when the innkeeper’s two girls entered with buckets of steaming hot water.Another two trips and the big tub was full, and the Witcher was reclined in the steaming bath. 

“A bit of comfrey or chamomile to ease your bruises?” Jaskier asked, referring to the sachets he found in his pack. 

“m” the Witcher assented. 

Jaskier flung in the herbs and the sweet scent pleased him.The Witcher’s nostrils dilated but he didn’t seem to mind it.His golden eyes were more heavily lidded as he relaxed. Now that it was clean, his face was as handsome as Jaskier had ever seen — even compared to the portraits and statues in the great museum of Oxenfurt.The Witcher’s striking beauty made Jaskier stare until he deliberately reined himself in and looked away. 

“Do you need any help with your hair?” 

Jaskier was expecting a noncommittal grunt, but instead, the Witcher’s face bore a hopeful look. 

“Yes?Smell this soap, it’s almond, very mild…” 

The Witcher gingerly smelled, and nodded slightly. 

Jaskier used a cup from the washstand and poured the hot water carefully over the Witcher’s filthy locks.Once they were fully wet, he generously soaped up his hands and applied the suds with his fingers, massaging the Witcher’s scalp gently yet thoroughly. 

“mmmm, fuck” the Witcher groaned, and Jaskier smiled to himself.The Witcher melted into the bath as the bard used his strong fingers to scrub at his muddy scalp and tease apart the knots in his long, white locks. 

By the time he got out of the bath, the Witcher was not only clean, he was relaxed and in a much better mood.His face bore the lines of pain and stress, but for the moment, he seemed happy. 

Jaskier sent the remnants of the meal from the last town down to the kitchen, and a better meal soon arrived - a whole roast chicken, with savory roast roots, and a delicious cold salad.Even a bottle of Est Est, and fine crystal goblets!

With the Witcher clean and dressed in his spare set of clothes, sharing a delicious meal with Jaskier at the room’s charming little table, one would never know this gentleman was an infamous Witcher, if one were blind to the fearsome scars, the unnatural pallor, and glowing golden eyes. 

“There’s only one bed,” Jaskier said. 

The golden eyes flashed up at him, wary. 

“We could share?” Jaskier said. 

On the other side from the cut, already much better, the corner of the Witcher’s mouth lifted slightly. 

“I don’t bite,” Jaskier said. 

“I might,” Geralt said, “if you want me to.”

Multiple words! —Jaskier compared this triumph to the wordless happy romping soon to come. 

“Oh,” he said with a broad, open smile.“I very, very much do.” 


End file.
